


Amortentia

by fancastic



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: Amortentia, But then they do, Fluff, Harry Potter AU, M/M, Potions, cas and dean dont like each other, its like 3am, sorry it sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 08:33:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3643668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancastic/pseuds/fancastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Its known by everyone that Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester have hated each other since first year. </p><p>When their Potions professor partners them up to make Amortentia (a love potion that smells of the things you love most), the outcome is unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amortentia

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off of propercy's textpost (Tumblr). Idea creds to them.

_Novak/Winchester_

Dean stares at it for a full ten seconds before it registers that, yes, he is partnered with the most _insufferable_ student to ever grace Hogwarts. Feeling his stomach clench, he feels a hand on his shoulder, followed by a softspoken, "Oh God" from Charlie.

He swallows and lifts his head, shrugging her small hand off. "It'll be fine," he promises, waving a hand dismissively, and her eyes are shining with disbelief; the rivalry that had plagued Dean and Castiel since First year was known by everyone in the school. 

He takes a few steps towards the supply cupboard but it halted by a gravelly voice. "I took the liberty of getting our ingrendients." Dean feels his chest tighten as he swivels around to see Castiel, bronze and blue tie as crooked as ever and a smug light coloring his eyes. Dean bites back a retort and answers with mimicked politeness, "How kind of you."

Castiel's eyes narrow slightly and he tilts his head, a signature gesture. For as genius as the dude is, he doesn't understand any form of reference or sarcasm ever, and it bleeds through in this small inclination of the head. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he stalks towards their station and sees that, indeed, the ingredients are strewn out and measured.

He drops his bag on the floor and slumps into the seat next to it, and hears Castiel sit next to him. They're spared from any form of conversation when Professor Harvelle sweeps in, looking around severely to see if anyone failed to follow the instructions scribbled on the board.

Apparently pleased with her assessment, she clasps her hands and smiles widely at everyone. She's always had a soft spot for Dean, and when she brushes her gaze over him, she winks. Still offended by the partner he'd assigned her with, he doesn't return the favor. Brushing it off, she announces, "If you haven't guessed, today you will be brewing Amortentia. Anybody know what it is?"

To nobody's surprise, Castiel's hand soars into the air. Harvelle quirks a brow and nods her permission. As if he was programmed to say it, Castiel explains, "Amortentia is a love potion. When correctly brewed, it gives off the smell or smells a person loves."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," she praises. "Five points to Ravenclaw." 

Dean rolls his eyes as he leans forward, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table. Freakin' show off. As she goes into the details of time limits, warnings, yadda yadda, he feels Castiel's foot brush his leg as the other shifts.

He jerks slightly and senses Castiel tensing too, but neither say anything. His leg tingles from where Castiel's shoe had grazed it, but he pushes that thought away to focus on Harvelle, only to find she's wrapping up her spiel and is releasing the class to begin. Great.

Turning to Castiel but avoiding his gaze, he grumbles, "So, what do you want me to do?" He glances up to see the irritation on Castiel's face mingling with confusion. "What?" he asks, his brilliance shining through yet again.

"I said, what should I do," Dean reinstates. "I can get the juices from the peppermint, or crush the powdered moonstone," he offers, "I was just trying to figure out who can do what to speed the process up."

Castiel blinks out of his stupor and pauses before speaking. "You can do the moonstone and rose thorns. I'll do the peppermint and ashwinder eggs," he decides, sounding as lifeless as before. Dean says nothing, just sweeps the said ingredients closer and reads over the instructions in the book. 

As he begins on the moonstone, he hears Castiel humming to himself, the sound almost drowned out by the scraping of knives and buzzing of conversation from surrounding tables. Dean finds himself trying to identify the song, but its not one he recognizes; it must be one Castiel had listened to whilst living with his Muggle mother. 

Shrugging it off (because why did he care?), Dean continues to crush the moonstone into a fine powder. His tongue poking between his teeth as his brow furrows in concentration, he scoops it up and begins to gently sift it into the boiling water of the cauldron. Castiel's head shoots up and he studies the deed like a hawk.

When Dean finishes, he grabs the ladle and stirs twice clockwise, once counterclockwise. The moonstone powder, dissolving into the water, has turned it a pale grey-blue. Castiel nods, satisfied with the work, and finishes measuring out the juice from the peppermint.

Dean watches as he pours it into the cauldron and stirs it four times counterclockwise, turning it into a bluish green. So far, so good. Castiel goes to throw away the peppermint leaves, and, panicked, Dean wraps his hand around his arm and pulls him back into his seat.

Castiel's eyes burn into him angrily. "What?" he hisses. Dean feels anger flutter in his stomach. "You have to cut the leaves and add them after the rose thorns," Dean snaps back. Castiel's glare falters and he flicks his gaze to the book to scan the section.

Grimacing at the realization that Dean's right, he tugs his arm from Dean's grip (who flushes when he becomes aware that he was still holding him) and goes to work at the thorns. Dean sighs and reads the passage. Ashwinder eggs? Seriously? He picks one up. Its freezing (they have to be frozen for the potion to work) and studies the bright scarlet color. Sammy would probably recite thirty different f —

"Hurry up," Castiel growls, startling him from his thoughts. Dean sticks his tongue out as Castiel, which stuns him into silence, and begins to peel the shells. It turns out to be extremely difficult, and in the end he has to pull strings of the soft inside out of the shell so the potion isn't affected.

Castiel had already added the thorns and leaves, and now silently glared at Dean's hands as he gently picked the shells up and dropped them into the potion. Before he can grab the ladle, however, Castiel is already lunging forward and stirring it violently.

He drops the ladle with a clang, watching the liquid morph into a pearl-colored substance, giving off a faint phosphorescent glow — just as the book promised. Dean glanced around to see that other students were finishing as well, with varying degrees of success. Dean was pleased to see that Charlie and Pamela's was close; it was a pale bluish color, but they seemed to be talking animatedly about what they could smell, so it must've worked enough.

Curious, he leaned down at the same time Castiel did. Giving him a dark look, Dean shifted away and inhaled, filling his lungs with the smell of —

Nothing?

Frowning, he sniffs harder, and again, he smells nothing different than he had whilst making the damn thing — that damn shampoo. His irritated comment is cut off as Professor Harvelle strolls over and announces to the class, "It appears we have had at least one successful group."

The class turns to see which pair of jerks got the potion right. Feeling himself get warm, Dean scratches the side of his head and looks at Charlie for support, but she simply raises a brow at him. "You boys mind telling us what you smell?"

Neither of them say anything for a moment, causing an awkward pause to fill the room. Then; "If Dean wasn't swimming in that stupid cologne he insists on wearing, I would be able to smell it."

Dean snaps his head at Castiel and is met with an equally furious glare. "Maybe we'd smell something if you hadn't stirred it wrong," Dean shoots back. Castiel rolls his eyes. "I did it fast, not incorrect. Three times clockwise, once counterclockwise, and another time clockwise." He scoffs. "Typical Gryffindor, blaming the problem on someone else."

Dean gapes. "You just accused me of 'swimming' in cologne," he points out. "Anyways, maybe it'd been easier to smell _something_ if you didn't use three bottles of cinammon shampoo every time you shower!" It's Castiel's turned to look offended. "I do not!" he snaps defensively.

Dean opens his mouth to say something when he realizes that its dead silent. He clamps his mouth shut and looks at Harvelle guiltily. Way to make himself an ass in front of everyone. Castiel seems to shrink slightly as he, too, takes in the situation. 

Dean then notices that, instead of anger of Harvelle's face, she's _smirking_ at them, and upon closer look, so is Charlie and a few other people. Castiel looks puzzled as well. "Winchester," Harvelle says after a moment. Dean meets her gaze and forces himself not to look away from her triumphant stare. 

"Is Novak referring to the cologne I made for you as a birthday present?" she asks. Dean nods. It smelled damn good, too. She was wonderful at mixing things. Her smirk broadens into a smile. "The same one that you ran out of three days ago and asked me to remake?"

It takes one, two, three seconds for it to sink in, and Castiel opens and shuts his mouth, almost like a fish, his cheekbones resembling the color of the ashwinder eggs. Dean feels his body flush as well, because _what?_

"And Novak," she barks, causing the Ravenclaw to startle and carefully meet her unwavering stare. "As your Head of House, I monitored your Quidditch practice yesterday. I'm assuming you showered yesterday, presumably after?" 

Castiel nods wordlessly. Dean tilts his head, feeling that this is about to go more south than it already was. "That practice ended before lunch; your hair was still wet when you were eating." He nods in confirmation. Dean barely notices the speculative murmurs from around the room.

"I'm assuming that, since you have another practice scheduled for later tonight, you didn't shower this morning?"

Dean feels his blood chill as Castiel quietly says, "No, Professor. I didn't."

Everyone ceases their talking as the meanings of the two conclusions sank in. Dean wishes he were a phoenix so that he could burn right on the stop and be buried under a pile of ashes. He refuses to look at Castiel, whom he assumes is equally mortified. 

Harvelle's voice is rich with laughter when she finally speaks. "Well, you two brewed this potion perfectly," she praises. Dean doesn't even have it in him to be excited, because thoughts of Obliviating himself are racing through his head. "You each earn ten points for your House and free butterbeer for you next three Hogsmeade visits."

Castiel murmurs the most undignified "thanks" in the history of time, and Dean just nods his head. They begin to clean up; class is over in fifteen minutes. After they carefully wash the cauldron and scrub their hands, the return to their seats to study for other classes, not looking at each other the entire time they work.

Dean feels Castiel's knee brush against his, but this time, neither of them pull back.

**Author's Note:**

> this is unbeta'd, so please let me know if you find any mistakes!


End file.
